Love Poems, Poetry

Soon Is a Dirty Word

You’ve said soon
A thousand times it doesn’t
Make me miss you any less
It doesn’t manifest in ether The smell of you either I miss
That scent like flowers
But manly in a way
That makes me laugh stop
Making me laugh I seriously I do
Miss you
I want to say
Your tender touch but I
Don’t want to sound stupid and
I want to say your rough touches too
But I’m too mad to be
Dirty with you
Right now anyway the way
You put a dob of
Cream cheese frosting on
The tip of my nose that time and
Licked it off I hated that
My nose smelled like spit
For what seemed like weeks it
Wasn’t funny to anyone but you
I miss that too.


66 Day Poetry Habit, Anti Love Poetry, Poetry

I’m Really a Nice Lady

I respect you less because
You love me unconditionally

I don’t respect you at all

You went in for a kiss and
I gave you my neck

Enough perfume to keep
You panting for another year

As if you needed a reason, dog-
-ed devotion is an un-sexy face

You let me shatter you
And I shatter you

A matter of course like college boys becoming
Sadistic prison guards when

Given the go-on by closet sadistic
Psychiatrists in the name of a science

Doomed to perpetual infancy, grow
A pair

And some hair and tell me to
My face I’m a bitch

Be a goddamned man
Stop dotting your hearts with

I… I… I… am not worth it
Have made myself not worth it

On purpose you shake
My linear foundations

One pulsing emotion that you are
I look down on you

for that too.

(Day 6 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)

Humor, Love Poems, Poetry

Controlled Substances (NaPoMo Day 4)

My pharmacist’s assistant boyfriend
gained weight.
It brings us closer as our fingers
touch over the Hydrocodone
and our wrinkles show
and our noses shine
under the fluorescent lights.

I say in a low voice
You know they’re for my mother.

He leans forward and says
so gently
I know. I remember you.

I tell him they’re for my mother every time
to prompt his sweet nothing.
I am unashamed. I flounce
out of the pharmacy with my narcotics
and swing my hips with purpose.


(I’m starting a little late for National Poetry Month’s 30 in 30. I owe you three. I’m on it.)